


The Little Things

by Ray_Writes



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-18
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-12-03 21:25:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11540715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ray_Writes/pseuds/Ray_Writes
Summary: The Doctor does Donna's nails.





	The Little Things

**Author's Note:**

> Really, no explanation for this. Maybe I'm just in the mood for gender stereotype defying Time Lords. Enjoy!

The Doctor placed the TARDIS down with a satisfied grin. Fairly smooth flight, and by all accounts when he checked the scanner they were precisely where he’d meant to park them. Whether they were  _ when _ he’d meant to park them, well, that was always the other question. No way of really knowing till they stepped outside. He quite liked that, to be truthful; always a surprise.

Of course, there was a slight hiccup in the usual routine. Donna wasn’t here yet. He’d gone ahead and done some maintenance at her suggestion before getting bored and piloting them to their next destination, but there was something lacking about having her there in those first few moments when they landed. Well, a lack of Donna always made everything else seem lacking too, really.

She’d retreated back to her room on the ship — well, it was more their room these days, if he was being technical — after breakfast, saying she needed a little time to get ready. By his estimates, a little time had passed.

“Donna!”

There was no response. She wasn’t even on her way to the console room yet, was she? Shaking his head, the Doctor bounded down the corridor leading to the bedroom. He opened the door and stepped through.

“Donna, ready to go?”

There was a startled squawk from the bathroom, and when he poked his head in he found Donna had nearly overbalanced from her position sitting on the lip of the bathtub. She was fully dressed so he felt rather sure it wasn’t some leftover question of modesty.

“Oi! Who said you could just burst in here?”

The Doctor raised a hand to the back of his neck. “You did.”

“Well knocking wouldn’t hurt,” she grumbled.

“Okay,” said the Doctor. He rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Ready to go?”

“What does it look like, you dumbo?” She said, though not unkindly. He was never quite clear on when Donna meant to insult him anymore; she seemed to use her various nicknames for him as slights and terms of endearment interchangeably.

“No?” He guessed. The Doctor, resigned, leaned back against the wall. Then he spotted the little bottle sitting just to the left of her. “Are you doing nails?”

“Just a touch up. I like the color,” she defended.

He knew that; it was why he’d bought it from the little shop after their tour through the Mondel Caves where Donna had marveled at all the varying shades. This particular one had reminded him of her eyes in certain lights. The polish was made with the same minerals found deep in the caverns and acted as its own top coat, so he’d been told. He’d been meaning to ask her what that meant, but when he’d given it to her she’d distracted him rather thoroughly with her thanks.

And right now, he was eager to get exploring their latest destination. “Almost ready?”

She grimaced. “I did my toes before breakfast. Those are about dry. Finished my left hand before you turned up—you’re lucky I was just putting the cap on again, Spaceman.”

“So just your right and then we can go?” He asked hopefully, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet.

“It’s not that quick, you big kid,” she chided with a laugh. “I’ve gotta wait for my left hand to dry first or I’ll smear it trying to do my right. Not like it isn’t hard enough already.”

“What makes it harder than your left?”

“Because I have to do it with my left.” At his continued blank stare, she wiggled the fingers of her non-painted hand. “Right-handed?”

“Oh, right! Sorry, my entire species was ambidextrous.” Would be a bit rubbish to regenerate and not know how to write in a new body, after all.

“Course they were,” she scoffed with a roll of the eyes. “Anyway, you might as well do some TARDIS maintenance or something, cause this is gonna take a while.”

“Well, why don’t I just do it?”

She looked up at him sharply. “You what?”

“Your right hand. It’ll make it go faster, won’t it?” He pointed out.

Donna was eyeing him like he’d somehow sprouted a second head. “You’re gonna paint my nails?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

She relented, although not without a warning. “If you get this all over my fingers, you can forget sleeping in here or whatever it is you do for a week.”

Donna sounded awfully serious about that. Still, he felt compelled to ask, “Isn’t the point to get it all over your fingers?”

“You know what I mean,” she said. Not in the mood to suffer any nonsense today, it appeared.

“Right.” He sunk down to sit cross-legged on the tile by her feet, then held out his hand for hers expectantly.

“Pinch me, I must be dreaming,” she muttered, but placed her hand in his nonetheless. Rather than pinch her as she’d requested, the Doctor thought it wise to simply accept the bottle of polish she passed him next. “You know how many of the girls back home would kill for their boyfriend to help them with this sort of thing?”

“They’re setting their sights awful low if that’s what they’re willing to kill for,” he remarked.

Donna barked a laugh. “You haven’t been hanging around many Earth blokes, then.”

“Plenty of species paint their nails, Donna, the males just as frequently as the females. The ones that aren’t either, too,” he stated. “It just wasn’t common practice on my planet for anyone. The Time Lords never really put much stock into appearances.”

“So they’d have liked me just fine. That’s a relief,” she remarked wryly.

She always did that, he reflected not for the first time. Put herself down whenever the subject of looks or physical beauty came up. Really, Donna put herself down just about any time, and he could not for the life of him understand why. How did she not see how brilliant she was?

He’d volunteered for a task, however, and apparently the state of their relationship hung in the balance over it. The Doctor made a mental note to tell Donna she was brilliant about an extra ten times today and then focused his attention on her nails.

It really wasn't difficult, though he took care around the edges keeping in mind Donna’s threat. Five tiny canvases and only one color of paint. Michelangelo would scoff at the simplicity. He wondered if humans ever mixed in other colors or worked with more creative designs; there had been a Gurean he’d met several centuries ago with nails nearly a meter long, on which they had been charged with recording the history of their village. He’d have to pay more attention the next time they went to Earth.

“What are you thinking about?” Donna asked.

“This or that. How did you know?”

“You’ve got a face,” she informed him. “You’re really not that mysterious.”

“Hm, and I suppose sitting on your bathroom tile does wonders for my reputation, too. Then again,” he glanced up, “I’ve never impressed you much, Donna Noble.”

The Doctor dipped the brush once more and moved onto Donna's thumb. She had a lovely thumb. Her whole hand was lovely, really. Soft with just the slightest calluses on the tips. All that typing from her temp jobs, most likely, hundred words per minute. And it fit right in his whenever they were running.

“You’re doing it again.” Donna sounded fond. When he looked up again, she was watching him with an indulgent smile. “Distracting yourself with the thought of some planet a million miles away?”

“Distracting myself with you, actually,” he answered, applying a last stroke to the nail and placing the cap and its brush back.

Donna looked away, seeming flustered by his response. She didn’t scoff or tell him he had to be joking, which might have been her response only a month ago. Little by little, he’d have her convinced she deserved all the compliments and more. The Doctor flipped her hand over, careful not to smear the paint, and placed a kiss on her palm.

“Well,” she said eventually, “you keep this up, consider me impressed.”

The Doctor grinned. “Noted.”


End file.
